Nobody could tell what the problem was,
But I knew it was beyond human comprehension,
And because of that I feel deeply for my twin sister, Tefewe.
If it was a fight,
Dede Dauda is the champion of our time,
My ferocious lover,
Who had seduced me with the mastery of blows,
And on the alter of wins,
He has butchered me.
He will not bat an eyelid to fight for my only sister, Tefewe.
If it was making caucos,
Mother would have saved her daughter,
With her mouth-watering stew,
And delicious porridges,
Which could set in motion, the stomach of a monster,
And the eyes of royalty, twitching,
With a plea for a potion,
But yet, mama stew couldn’t save Tefewe.
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And if it was all about dancing,
I would have danced Tefewe into reality,
Twisting my big waist to the sweet melody of the Kongo,
And to the intoxicating beating of the Igede,
Shaking my head and clapping my hands,
To welcome the spirit of longevity,
But yet Tefewe was determined to talk a stroll to the world beyond.
We stood staring at Tefewe lifeless body,
The herbalist stood aloof,
As if he dreaded her body,
Beads of perspiration gathered on his forehead,
Tefewe case had defiled his herbs,
Probably he thought that people might began to doubt the potency of his medicine.
I looked at mother,
She was wailing uncontrollably,
Father remained taciturn,
His face was filled with pain.
Tears flowed down my cheeks uncontrollably,
I was scared when the herbalist speak in low tones with my father while looking intently at me,
All of a sudden I remember something,
The flute.
I ran into the house like a mad dog,
I searched blindly for it.
I heard my name from behind,
It was like a whisper…
I turned back to behold the bloody face of Tefewe,
I passed away.
